


flowers own my life (they own my backyard cemetary)

by dullrockets



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bad is Jimmy, Child Neglect, Gen, Ponk is Jack, Quackity is Helga, Tales From The Dream SMP, The Village That Went Mad, Tubbo is Robin, Wars, descriptions of death, everyone else is everyone else, robin brainrot fr, spoilers for the village that went mad, the rest of the tags are trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dullrockets/pseuds/dullrockets
Summary: in which robin's family is gone, but he has another.until he doesn't, and only the flowers keep him company.spoilers for the village that went mad, you can watch the vod on karl's twitch channel :)
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & Corpse Husband
Comments: 17
Kudos: 152





	flowers own my life (they own my backyard cemetary)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diapason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diapason/gifts).



> ello! this was a work that i twinned with diapason! check 'em out, they're very neat and did a work on this too!
> 
> [diapason's fic!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529022)
> 
> [the village that went mad vod](https://www.twitch.tv/videos/859298287)
> 
> WARNINGS: child neglect, wars, blindness, descriptions of death, abandonment
> 
> disclaimer: these are not about the ccs! these are about the characters they portrayed in this roleplay, and if any cc says they're uncomfortable with these types of fics, i will take this down!

Robin wasn’t lying. He really, _really_ was under pressure, but he still told the truth. Or maybe he told the truth because he was under pressure? He wasn’t sure.

His vision was blurry, really blurry. It might be a nightmare, his mind reasoned, or from tears. But he could see a figure, and her face was so, so clear, it was like his own; His mother’s. But the features made it all too clear this wasn’t her. Her nose was slightly off centered, when you looked closer, and her lips were pulled into a tight frown. 

It unsettled him, really, to only see pure hatred on his mum’s face. He knew, when he was being reasonable, that his mum loved him (or did she?), but he wasn’t, because this was so clearly a nightmare and _why couldn’t he wake up?_ But he didn’t know the answer, so he continued to stare back at her pupils until he saw them dilate until they were just barely there, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the light or because of him.

After a while, and a hard, hard staring contest that he lost, his mother simply shook her head, in seeming disappointment, and walked towards the door. He reached out for her, but her reflexes were too fast, and she slapped his hand away from her. He hated this, the fact that she could’ve very well despised him. After all, he barely remembered her, and even then he was sure his mind got the features wrong.

The door slamming brought him out of his ramble that wasn’t even very long but felt like an eternity, but when he looked towards it, he realized he wasn’t awake yet. His dad had walked in, after yelling obscenities at his mum, and turned to stare at him with pity. He supposed he understood why; He was down to one parent, only one person guiding him to adulthood.

  
  
  


He didn’t know he’d lose both of them so soon. He didn’t know why, but when he was only a teenager, mere years after his mum left, he was forced to learn to brew potions, to read health book after health book, to test different medications, and so, so much more. Well, he guessed he did. He just didn’t remember. All he remembered was that _nothing_ worked, and he was urged forward by no one to buy some stone and a hammer from the local merchant. 

He had a funeral for his father the day after, and in his body’s place, lay a garden of bright blue forget-me-nots and marigolds that shone like the sun. (He knew his dad always liked forget-me-nots. After a lot of books on gardening, he figured out why.)

After 3 months of living on his own, the news came to him that his mother had died. No messenger dared to tell how, but the look of sorrow on their eyes showed enough. In his backyard, next to his dad’s grave, laid a patch of lavenders and yellow roses. They brightened up the stone that was engraved with his mum’s name.

He met Corpse (though he still doubted it was his real name) when he was 16. Still underage, but barely considered a child. His eyes shone with memories, bad ones, in a way that no child’s eyes should’ve. Corpse lived next door, he had moved in and greeted him with a bouquet of roses colored like cherry blossoms (they still lived to this day, potted in a dark grey flower pot). He loved them, watering them every other day, while humming songs that people didn’t know, but that Robin would never say a word about.

Corpse loved him, and cared for him, and he could not be more thankful. It was foreign, in a way he hated, because this should feel familiar and _it didn’t_. He remembered the day Corpse told him about his past, and it seemed he knew more about his past than himself. He told him of the sound of swords clinking, with a force that only people fighting for their life had. Robin shivered; This sounded all too familiar.

He told him of the screams ( _He screamed his throat raw, looking at his comrad’s body, lying in the red-drenched snow_ ), the cries ( _The tears rolling down his cheeks did not look good on him, he thought bitterly, leaving flower at the makeshift gravestone when he knew the general was asleep_ ), and the fierce rollercoaster of emotions any soldier faced ( _One minute, he was cheering because his team had won the war. The next, he was in stunned silence at the news of his best friend’s death_ ).

And most importantly, he told him of his father. The way he yelled in joy, _putting an arm up in victory because of the news, keeping the other secured on Corpse’s shoulder._ The way he fought, _sword blocking, but only if it were to hit somewhere vital. He was reckless, but he always survived._ The way he cried, _screaming for his son to come back. Corpse had tried to comfort him, but all he managed to get out of him was the name “Robin.” The way he said it was engraved into his mind_.

They talked more and more, as of late. Corpse would always bring things for him, and he could not be more thankful. In exchange (even though he said he didn’t need to repay him), he planted many varieties of flowers, from milky white tulips to crimson salvias. He, after a long night of gardening, told him that the seeds were from his mum before she left. She always had an interest in gardening; Robin didn’t, originally he had the opposite of a green thumb, but the hobby grew on him.

The months flew by so fast. One day it was the middle of March, and Robin was showing the mayor, _what was his name?_ \- how to plant marigolds in his lawn. Mayor Jimmy enjoyed his “lessons,” and after he could successfully pot a plant without killing it, he sent Robin on his way with a smile and a gracious thanks. And, of course, his payment, the seeds for _Lily of the Valleys_ , that he’d been looking for for a while. Jimmy had found them in some lively town called _Durham_ , and Robin was so excited, he’d never even been within two hundred kilometers of that place!

Wow, that made it seem like all he cared about were his flowers, didn’t it? Well, to be fair, they were basically all he had left. He actually knew how to make them stay! All he had to do was water them, and sing to them, and they were happy! Such a simple way of life. He envied them, if he was being honest. They were always a constant in his life, and every time he saw them they were beaming. Maybe he was hallucinating, but he swore he could see smiles in them.

The whole day felt off, to him. In the morning, he’d had Corpse come over, to practice a potion he was working on (he was so lucky it worked, in retrospect). Then, he watched as a neighbor he was vaguely acquainted with, Jack, came to greet a newcomer that was moving in. He looked off, to be transparent; The way his bright orange hair was suspiciously matted with red, and how his smile was just a bit too forced.

But, Jack didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t really comment, just patting him on the back and welcoming him as “Bob,” or something. It was a shit name to Robin. Alas, he still had things to do. Well. That was technically a lie, but trying to sleep in broad daylight was technically a thing to do, right? He reasons this with himself for a solid five minutes, until he comes to the conclusion that he should first- no, the first thing he should do was _go lay down_ because he was tired as shit.

He awoke the next day to screams, yells, and cries. He rubbed his eyes, ears quickly tuning into the conversation as he got dressed. Shirt, underwear, overalls, hat. He tried to zone into the argument once more, because when he tried the first time, he only succeeded with focusing entirely on the hem of his t-shirt, or each straw in his hat. He shoved the door open, hinges creaking with age. He yawned out of habit, rubbing his eyes once again, because he hadn’t had breakfast, or coffee, for that matter, and was still half asleep.

And of course, everyone paused, and turned to face him, making direct eye contact that was lasting way too long for comfort.

“ _Hey guys_ ,” he started, making sure to elongate the ‘y,’ “ _What are you guys yelling about?_ ”

“ _Oh, Robin!_ ” The frail voice of Helga made him flinch, but he only smiled at her antics, after all, she wasn’t that good in the head, “ _We were just talking about how Dre- Cornelius, yeah, Cornelius Westaken! He died!_ ”

Now, that was not something he was expecting. That was most definitely not what he was expecting. Cornelius Westaken? He was the smartest one in the village! How did he die? When did he die? Was there a murderer amongst them? He glanced at all of them, and nothing looked too out-of-the-ordinary. Jack, poor Jack, looked terrified, trembles racking throughout his body most noticeable. The rest, besides Miles, who looked like there was a mix of emotions on a rollercoaster in his body, looked pretty normal, if not a little shaken.

“ _He- He died? How?_ ”

“ _Well, word has it that he was killed by somebody here! Scary, right? One of us could kill you in the night!_ ”

Helga was soon cut off, much to her display, and the mayor coughed, ringing a small bell to signify a village meeting, “ _Well, obviously, we need to make sure the people responsible pay for their crimes. So, who did it?_ ”

“ _Well, I think it’s George! He was snickering when he found his body. We all saw it._ ”   
  
“ _What if it's Corpse? He might be pulling a play! Weren’t they good friends? Did you hear an argument last night?_ ” _  
_   
“Hey, I wouldn’t even be able to see anything! I’m blind, shitass!”

“ _What if it’s Robin? He was acting sort of clueless._ ”

“ _I just woke up! Why- Why would I not be clueless, that- that doesn’t make- make any sense!_ ”

“ _I don’t think Robin did it. I know him, he’s a gardener, for fucks sake._ ”

_“Yeah, well, he has all the tools! He could’ve whacked his skull in with a shovel!_ ”

“ _Did you even see the body? It clearly had a cut to the throat, no ‘shovel’ marks anywhere there!_ ”

“ _Enough!_ ” All eyes quickly snapped to the mayor, voice stern and commanding. _“Robin, Corpse- even your name sounds like you're a cold-blooded killer, and, I guess, George. Come up to the prison, and one of you will be executed. The rest of us will vote- anonymously- to choose who will die._ ”

_That plan sounded terrible_ , Robin’s mind supplied, but he didn’t exactly want to get on the mayor’s bad side, so he kept his mouth shut, and went to guide Corpse, who was standing inches away from the campfire, to where the cell _actually_ was.

“ _And, Corpse, you have the most votes, get in the cell._ ”

Robin gasped, hands trembling. He couldn’t have him leave, he just _couldn’t_ , he was the only person who cared about him like his dad did!- Rough hands quickly slapped him away from Corpse’s, and it reminded him of his mum in the most cruel way possible. He hated it so, _so_ fucking much. He hated it, as he watched his best friend, his father figure, be torn away from him and dragged towards the cell door. He hated the way he couldn’t see where they were to fight back, and could only listen to Robin’s wretched cries as he was shoved into the cell.

_And he hated the way he seemed happy that Robin wasn’t there with him, and he hated the moment that Robin whispered, “It’ll be okay, dad,” a scream was pulled out of Corpse’s mouth as a strange lever was pulled by the mayor, letting him drop into burning hot lava and leaving him to die._

The next few days blurred by. Same with the days after that. And, after that, the weeks. It took exactly 23 days for Robin to think about doing anything other than watering the plants and sleeping. On the 24th day, Robin added to his cemetery backyard with Corpse’s gravestone. On it, lay a bouquet of yarrow, the delicate yellow making him smile, no longer sticking with the patches of flowers. He thought it would help him stick out. It’s not what he would’ve wanted, but it’s not like he was alive (or able to see) to tell.

The few days after that, he was pretty sure someone else was murdered. He didn’t remember who. He didn’t care. All he knew was he was suspicious, and he was fine with that. He gladly walked towards his demise, tears running down his face the whole way. They were tears of happiness, as well, and he just thinks that’s the icing on the cake of misery.

He smiled, as he declared that he didn’t do it, but it was so obvious to everyone that he did. He didn’t, really, but he was glad to go out like this. He smiled, as he was walked to the cell that held his death clear as day. And you bet he fucking smiled when the lever was pulled, even if he screamed only a millisecond later in the pain that was burning alive. But he smiled through it anyway.

_He was in an empty void, and all around him bright, twinkling stars greeted him. He smiled, sitting up and standing on air. As he looked forward, the sight of a blue and green sphere met his gaze, but more importantly, he saw Corpse- no, his true father- stare at him, and smile fondly._

_“I can see you now, Robin.”_

_It was all that needed to be said, as Robin cried with relief, running up to him and getting engulfed in a hug a moment later. He, at this moment, decided that death was better than life, in his case. And, the moment after, as Corpse squeezed him tighter as if reading his thoughts, decided that he was right, too, finally letting his thoughts turn to pudding and hugging Corpse back._

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! this was my longest oneshot so far, and its still fucking short, but im getting better at this shit i swear
> 
> check out qar's discord server for fanfic writers and readers, [the writers block!](https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm)


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